Sara Sidle, I'm worthless without you
by ProbieWithADuck
Summary: Basically Catherine's reaction to Sara's death. Femslash, dont like, dont read. RATED M only for some language and a little darkness. Other than that, its perfectly fine! Review please! This fic also suggests mild SofiaCatherine at the end!


I had to post this up. This idea has been bugging me for ages. It was going to be Sofia/Sara But when I asked a certain someone on msn to pick either Sofia or Catherine. She chose Catherine, so here I am with the worst case scenario for our dear Sara Sidle. I did make some references to Catherine/Sofia at the end, only mild though.

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I stare down into my empty bottle of beer. As crazy as it sounds, It's like I can see her gap-toothed goofy grin shining back up to me, but she never did use that smile for me. I never got the chance to tell her how I truly felt about her, its like an indescribably pain slowly eating away at me. I throw the beer bottle at the wall in an angry rage. My eyes are red and sore from the constant flow of my tears, I clench my fists until my knuckles turn white and I realize I've been holding my breath for far too long.

I let out a long growl and stagger to the kitchen, my eyes are drawn to the array of empty beer bottles, smashed beer bottles and dirty work clothes splashed all over the floor like a five year olds painting. My hand reaches for the side of the kitchen counter for balance as I dive into the refrigerator in search of more alcohol. I manage to find another bottle of beer so I slam the door shut and drag myself back to the chair I was sitting on.

I stare into the blankness of my living room walls and frown furiously. I can't take this anymore! Why couldn't I pluck up the courage and tell her?

"Because you're a worthless bitch," I mutter to myself coldly. I take another long swig of my beer and sit back into the chair. My head is pounding. It's been pounding ever since I left the lab with the most horrific news on my shoulders.

It's our fault she died; it's our fault because we didn't move fucking fast enough. But it's definitely all my fault when it comes to one thing. I was such a cold, heartless bitch towards her. She'll probably die hating me. But one things for sure, I'll die loving her.

I look over to the smashed beer bottles. I threw them all in the same place, the wall beside the TV. I chuckle darkly to myself, how could such a confident and well thought of person like me crumble so easily?

"Because its one big joke" I mutter matter-of-fact to myself.

I turn to the clock, its neon numbers standing out brightly in my artificial darkness. It reads 11:30 am. I feel a twinge of gratefulness that my Mom offered to look after Lindsey for the weekend once I called her about the news.

I can be a complete wreck for two days and not give a fuck who sees me.

I can almost imagine what Grissom would say to me if he saw me right now, "Catherine, you have to be strong for Lindsey" I spit, actually quite surprised that I strung a coherent sentence together without slurring.

Even if it sounds cruel, fuck Lindsey for a moment. I've been there for her, kept it together when Eddie died and now it's my turn to crumble. Even in my state of half-consciousness as the alcohol takes effect. I know all my thoughts are influenced by alcohol and sheer hurt. Shouldn't alcohol numb the pain? It isn't doing much for me. Maybe a few more bottles…

I get up and turn towards the kitchen but my eyes are diverted to the mirror hanging up on the wall. I stumble towards it and stare at my reflection. I'm wearing a tank top and a pair of old shorts, my eyes are smudged-black mixed with red soreness. My hair is dead straight but it still looks like a mess. My eyes glaze over with anger and I charge at the mirror, lunging at it with my fists until it smashes into pieces. I bring my hands into view and notice the small cuts and gashes appearing. The amount of blood surprises me, but the smallest cuts bleed the most. Right?

I rub my knuckles into my white tank top; I look like I just killed someone with the blood smeared on my tank top. I stagger towards the kitchen, my chosen destination in the first place and run my hands underneath freezing, cold water.

It stings at first but the stinging turns into an odd soothing buzz. I drop to my knees, barely being able to keep my hands in the sink where they are welcomed by the flowing liquid.

After a few moments I get up, turn the tap off and wipe my wet hands in my tank top once more. I feel sticky, not one window or door is open and the temperature is rising. But I like the heat; it makes this seem more real, even though all I want is for her to run through that door with open arms.

I chuckle to myself, like that's going to happen.

I can feel myself getting dizzier and dizzier now. The mixture of too much alcohol and heat is taking a devastating effect on my body and I stagger around the living room until I crash to the floor, centimeters away from the broken glass.

I haven't passed out, I wish I would though; I'm practically coaxing my body into passing out and taking me away from this hurricane for a few hours.

The pain in my head is like white noise now, I bring my cut and bruised hands to my head and clench tightly, I don't want this pain, I don't want any of this, I want her.

The tears I've been trying to prevent are falling now. They only add to the deadly cocktail of hurt, pain and regret. My ears become aware of knocking, it takes me a few moments to notice that someone's knocking the door.

I ignore it; I manage to drag my self to the wall so I can lean against its coolness. But that's probably alerted the person or persons out side that I'm in here. Then I hear a key go into the lock. I can narrow down who it is now; I always keep a spare key in my locker so it's definitely someone from work.

Maybe its Sara coming to rescue me, maybe this is all one big dream and I'll wake up any second now. False hope, the door opens; Greg Sanders and Sofia Curtis appear.

"Jesus Christ!" Sofia muttered whilst Greg made a beeline towards me. I don't mutter a single word, doesn't my appearance explain?

Greg gently moved me away from the wall; I'm surprised how comforting his arms are right now. Still, I say or do nothing.

Sofia's gaze falls to my tank top then my knuckles. Even if I'm drunk, I still notice the raw emotion in her eyes.

Greg's lifted me into his arms and is making his way to the bathroom. This time I lean my head against his Shoulder and cry, I cry my heart out simply because I need to.

Greg sits me down on the stool by the door. He then moves to the bath, turning the taps and it starts to fill. I grin at the thought, Greg Sanders the caring friend.

He looks at me, he knows I'm too drunk to think or speak properly, everything I say is riddled with bitterness.

"I'm going to go clear up, Sofia will come in to help you, Cat" I whispers, his voice is gentle and sounds like heaven to me. His hand squeezes my own hand before he leaves and Sofia steps in.

She stands in front of me and crouches down. Her eyes are looking for some kind of go ahead, so I nod and roll my head backwards, leaning it against the tiled wall for comfort.

Some how she manages to lift my tank top over my head and unclip my bra. I feel exposed, sick and exposed.

She gently lifts me up and I try to take off my shorts, I'm not wearing any underwear so it doesn't take long before Sofia is walking my naked form to the bath.

She leans over and turns the taps off. I can't help but notice how her blonde hair dangles in front of her.

I lift one leg over and step into the warm, welcoming water. I allow my head to fully submerge before I lift my head back up and sigh heavily. Sofia was staring at me. She looks away quickly thinking I didn't notice, but I did.

But she turns back and kneels on the floor, her hands steadying herself on the edge of the bath.

"Just remember Catherine. Some people will_ always_ love you." She said, and then left the bathroom without another word.


End file.
